“Live! ay, very much alive––see, he comes yonder now. Faith, he fought Jules Lescalles knife to knife, and ended the career of that renegade. Is that not a recommendation, M. de Tonty?”
The other did not answer; he was watching De Artigny approach, his eyes filled with doubt. I also had scarce thought otherwise, and stepped forward to greet him, with hands outstretched. He was rags from head to foot, spattered with blood, an ugly wound showing on one cheek, yet his lips and eyes smiled.
“’Twas good work, well done,” he said cheerily. “’Twill be a while before the Iroquois besiege this fort again. Is that not your thought, M. de Tonty?”
“I appreciate the service rendered,” replied the other gravely. “But you are in peril here. M. Cassion is yonder, and still in command.”
De Artigny glanced inquiringly at La Forest, and the latter stepped forward, a leather bound packet in his hands.
“Your pardon, M. de Tonty,” he said. “I had forgotten my true mission here. I bear orders from the King of France.”
“From Louis? La Salle has reached the King’s ear?”
“Ay, to good results. These are for you, Monsieur.”
De Tonty took them, yet his thought was not upon their contents, but with his absent chief.